


oak, flesh, and fibers well-worn

by sybilius



Series: count to ten and run for cover [8]
Category: Il buono il brutto il cattivo | The Good The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
Genre: (Ex Assassin), Anal Sex, Anxiety, Assassins & Hitmen, Blow Jobs, Communication, Domestic, Emotional Intimacy, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, I wrote this for me and you can read it if you like, Kinda, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Scars, Sexual Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, consensual voyeurism, greyasexual character, kind of threesome, self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: Not everything is easy to keep together and safe when the trio finally make their way home to the gatehouse. Not every scar is going to fade. But they have time to build that trust together, with words and touch alike.
Relationships: Angel Eyes/"Blondie" | The Man with No Name/Tuco Ramirez
Series: count to ten and run for cover [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1289720
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	oak, flesh, and fibers well-worn

**Author's Note:**

> Some self-indulgent nice things for me, ft. Angel Eyes scars and Blondie finally realizing actively that he doesn't have to use his body to be useful to his partners <3

_Sleeves on that sweater are too long for him_.

Which is odd, Blondie reflects, or would be if he didn’t realize a moment later the sweater was one of Tuco’s. _Old one, too, from a long time back on the road_. Angel Eyes almost swims in its bright red wool, same as Tuco would have. When he rests his head on his hand, Blondie can't quite tell if he's wearing gloves or no. 

"Can I come in?"

Angel doesn't look away from his thousand-yard-stare out the window next to the bed, but his lips do turn up under his mustache, "Of course you can."

Blondie takes a seat next to him on the huge four poster bed, noticing the open book splayed across his lover's legs. _Something Latin, like always._ He takes a moment to study the bedroom. _Angel really had his way with it --_ the design is the closest to the hacienda of anywhere in the gatehouse, a single framed painting and a decadent cherry wood armoire. Somehow it’s a comforting sight. _Guess I could almost say the bedroom is all of ours, now._

That said, there were fewer comforts than Blondie perhaps expected. It's only been a scant four days back at the gatehouse, after all those miles it took to get them home. _Was expecting Tuco to have the hardest time adjusting_. But in spite of the fact that they’ve returned to a home that Angel Eyes bought, reshaped, and made a refuge of, it’s him that’s been alternating between tense insomnia and an unsettling amount of sleep. 

Blondie shifts a little closer. The dark marks under his lover’s eyes look a little better. _Might just be the window-light_ . He lets his eyes wander down to the text, picking up the gist of a few phrases. _ex Acheronte suo silvis peperisse sub atris; vidit et indicio reditum crudelis ademit_ \-- something classical, though he can’t quite place it. 

“Is Tuco all right?” Angel breaks the silence, sharp and sudden, the book almost tumbling off his lap as he leans towards the open door. 

“Yeah. He’s just napping,” Blondie gingerly rests a hand on Angel’s shoulder, pulling him back to rest on the pillows, “You’re not the only one catching up after that long journey, you know.”

That’s putting it a little bluntly, given that Angel has just slept more than half the morning, but he sinks back on the pillows, appearing not to have the energy to argue. 

“I don’t want to be.”

Blondie bites the inside of his cheek, to distract from the sudden pain in his chest. The graceless lack of specificity is so unlike the self-assured man whose unflinching patience saw Blondie through so many maps and interstates. _So what can you say to him?_

“It’s -- it’s okay. You’re safe here,” it doesn’t sound hesitant when he says it, reaching for some of the hustle he played as _Manco_. 

Angel turns his profile to face Blondie, uncertainty and affection written on the lines of his face, “I sincerely wish that I believed that. I do.”

Blondie shifts the hand that’s resting on Angel’s shoulder to the corner of his jaw, “Well. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not sure I have anything to say. Or at the very least -- I don’t think dwelling on these anxieties will serve me well at this particular instance.”

“If you’re sure.”

Angel nods once, closing the texts and setting them on the bedside. Blondie’s fingers catch at the back of his neck, the base marked by a small scar that Blondie doesn’t know the story behind. _That’s most of his scars, when you think about it_. Blondie blinks into Angel’s intense gaze, considering this.

“Can I ask you something, then?”

A rueful smile flits across Angel’s face, “Are we still to play that game?” 

“Old habits die hard…”

“Good habits. Yes, of course you can ask.”

“Tch. I mean. This is just me being nosy. Will you take off your shirt?”

Without even asking why, Angel Eyes pulls the lurid red sweater over his head, stripping off the sleeveless grey undershirt to reveal flesh marked by so many years of living on the edge, of lives cut down by his now-bare hands, of all the obsessive watchfulness he can’t let go of. It takes the breath out of Blondie to see how completely Angel trusts him. Even like this. 

“Well?” 

Blondie blinks, realizing the silence of studying all the small marks and sinew of his lover’s body has gone on too long. By way of answer, he slips into muscle memory; leans in, finding the clean line along Angel’s left hip to mark it with a kiss. _You’ve got at least some idea how he came by that one_. Blondie swallows, before he loses his nerve.

“Was wondering if you might tell me about these,” he traces the scar carefully with his finger. 

It’s a bold ask, given all that Angel isn’t saying, but the hum of pleasure that resonates all the way down to Angel’s hip tells Blondie he hasn’t misread the situation. 

“You know that one. In a sense.”

“I wouldn’t forget something like that,” Blondie sits up, “How did you meet him?”

“Work. Which may have been a mistake in its own right but -- well, one has qualms, I suppose, about looking elsewhere. Drawing someone in to that life. Or I did. As did Baker, strangely enough. It was one of a scant few things I actually respected about him.”

“...ah,” the implication of that isn’t lost on Blondie. _For all my damn hustle caused us trouble, without it -- neither of us would be here_. He turns to Angel, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Angel shakes his head, near-rolling his eyes.

“Don’t say it.”

“All right, I won’t,” Blondie settles for a gentle kiss instead. Angel catches it in his lips with a sigh, almost regretful. _Well, that didn’t do any good._ Blondie’s fingers find the puckered edge of a familiar mark on Angel’s right bicep. He traces it, pulling away.

“How about this one?”

“Mm. Got a bit careless on a hit job. Bullet graze.”

“Where was it?”

“Reno, of all places.”

“Fits, s’far as I can tell,” Blondie replies. He half expects him to chime in with something confident, but Angel simple puts his bare hand to the scar with a careful frown. 

“Was there a lot of blood?” Blondie asks tentatively after a moment.

“It was a bullet,” Angel says evenly, “Yes.”

Since the questions are failing him, Blondie simply presses his lips to the edge of the flesh, his chin brushing Angel’s hand. All of a sudden the arm beneath him moves, almost knocking him away as it grips around him. Blondie freezes, all confusion, but Angel just shakes his head once. 

“You know this is absurd--” Angel says hoarsely, “I was there, then, to kill a man. What comfort should come to that act?”

“You’re clinging to me.”

“...Yes. yes, but I--” Angel Eyes stops abruptly, goes slightly limp around Blondie. 

_God above, he’s all over the place_ . Blondie brings his hand back to the nape of Angel’s neck, strokes the hair there gently. Somehow, though, he isn’t as worried as he could be. Maybe it’s the familiar bedroom, maybe it’s the faith of all those miles. _Hell, it’d be him that’d say to me, we made it this far. We’ll get through this too._

After it’s been quiet for some time, listening to the calm rhythm of Angel's pulse, he asks, “Why don’t you give me some Latin bullshit for that?”

“Mm. Let me think on it a moment,” Angel murmurs into his shoulder, “ _Cedens in uno cedet in pluribus._ Virtue which parlays is nearly a surrender.” 

“That’s a dig, I’ll take it, I deserve that,” Blondie half-grins bitterly, thinking of his first month visiting Angel here.

“No, thank you -- really. There’s always something -- in the recounting to your ears. Some familiar distance, it’s quite remarkable,” Angel says seriously. The words settle warm in Blondie’s chest-- _god, now it’s almost me who doesn’t believe that_. 

_Almost. But I guess I have to_. 

“I thought you’d give me more shit for asking you for the movie play-by-play.”

“Not today. In some ways it’s -- nice to have the distance. It is sometimes terrible that it feels like it happened to someone else,” he loosens his grip, a self deprecating smile playing on his face as he gestures, “These hands -- you know I really ought to be quoting Shakespeare, all things considered.” 

Blondie catches his right hand carefully, pressing his thumb on to the top knuckle of Angel’s middle finger, “How about this one?”

Angel studies the small scar with a wistful play to his lips, “Kitchen knife, would you believe. There was a lot of blood for that, too. Alma did the stitches herself. She gave me such a dressing down, said I could have lost the tip of my finger if I’d cut just a little more off. That was when I was told to work in the kitchen with gloves too. Might as well, living the rest of my life in them.” 

There’s only one reply Blondie can give to that, but it still takes him a moment of watching Angel’s distant gaze carefully before he asks.

“You figure you will, still?”

“Yes. To do otherwise would ignore the weight of far too much history.”

“That makes sense. You know, I --” 

“Hey, hey, what’s this about?” Tuco, rubbing his eyes and shrugging off the blanket behind him, bounds on to the bed, “You two should have woken me up, you know I wouldn’t want to miss anything!” 

Tuco is already sliding his hand on to Blondie’s thigh, but Blondie just shakes his head,“Y’know I think the things we _are_ doing might be better off with that blanket than anything else.”

Angel laughs, breaking the tension easily. _That’s a heartening sight_. It makes Tuco grin as well, “Well, what the hell are you two up to then?”

“I was just asking Angel for some of his campfire stories,” Blondie says it blithely, remembering a month or so back on the road, when their resident assassin had taken the challenge a bit too seriously, “Bout the scars, you know.”

“Mmm,” Tuco kisses the one on his shoulder, dark eyes still glittering with impish lust. _It’s a good look on him_ . Blondie savors it for the moment, almost surprised at the way Angel turns with eagerness, brushing a bare hand down his arm. _But then -- he did always love indulging Tuco_ . _Nice not to be jealous of that anymore_. 

“We can stop speaking of it, if it’s upsetting to you?” Angel nods. 

“Oh, as long as I get to sit between you two -- I did just have a nap, you know, so how bad could it be?”

Blondie tilts his head, “You want to keep going?”

Angel leans back on his hands, all that marked sinew on display as he considers. He turns to Tuco, eyes sparkling, “In all honesty? _Mens regnum bona possidet --_ I think I’d rather fuck.”

Tuco grins, “Or that.”

Blondie shakes his head. _Not that I wasn’t expecting it to end up this way one way or another._ Tuco is nuzzling eagerly at Angel’s neck, his lips and tongue plush and pink against pale skin. He stops to kiss the scar on his back again, winking roguishly at Blondie

“You know, I always thought this scar was very sexy. Sometimes I see it and think -- we could get shot at. You know, not right now, but _could_ \-- damnit,” Tuco pouts as Angel spares a glance to the window, but there’s something exaggerated, rather than anxious, about the movement. 

Tuco steals a desperate look his way, but Blondie just throws up his hands, “I’m not saying anything right now.”

“Angel, _querido_ \--”

“I’m half-joking, I’ve had eyes on that window for much longer,” Angel leans back into his place between them, a wicked glint in his eyes, “But you’d do well to remember that we _could_ be.”

“Sweet-talker,” Tuco teases, leaning in to kiss Angel. Blondie leans back a bit, breath caught in his throat at the way they _melt_ into each other. Angel’s kisses are slow, but his deft fingers are eager, working open the buttons on Tuco’s bright polyester shirt. 

“You know-mmf-” Tuco smiles as Angel lavishes attention on his neck, “I thought we’d have at each other soon as we got here, but after that scare with losing the place, _dios mio--”_

“You were the first to fall asleep,” Blondie points out with a smirk.

“Oh now, you shut up and get over here--” Tuco cuts him off with a clumsy kiss to the lips-- messy and all-too familiar. _Got the taste of history in it_. 

“You and your smooth-talking blonde ass--”

Angel cuts in smoothly, “That’s halfway to surprising that it was you, given the state I was in.”

“Mhm, but you’re awake now aren’t you?” Tuco raises his eyebrows with a wicked grin, eagerly kissing a line down Angel's bare chest.

“ _Rather_.”

With impatience and clumsiness alike Tuco strips Angel’s pants off to reveal his hard cock, sensitive as the shiver that runs through Angel when Tuco breathes on it. 

"Ah -- _cazzo_ \--" Angel swears hoarsely, as Tuco's lips wrap around him. Blondie tilts his head, watching rapt as Angel's length disappears again and again underneath his mustache. It's shameless, and should be tempting as all hell, and it is-- but at the same time… 

Blondie purses his lips, his head spinning a bit. _I wanted to make Angel feel better._ From the way his lover's neck strains, all the tendons sharp as violin strings, that's already done. _Doesn't feel bad though-- that it's Tuco and not me. Or I guess-- I know what part I had in that_ . _Doesn’t have to be this part_. He takes the two of them in, not lust-clouded but all together-- thoughtful. 

_To think I used to be so afraid of this._

It’s almost absurd to him now-- they’re beautiful together, all fire and sweat and animal softness. Tuco crawls a hand across Angel’s chest to grip at limp and shaking fingertips, and Blondie has the altogether strange thought that watching them is more like watching a river flowing fireside than it is like any of the lipstick-slick backalley films he’s ever seen. 

Tuco pulls off, lips swollen and gorgeous, "So Blondie, do you wanna fuck him or --"

Blondie blinks, the answer coming to him -- different than he expects. 

"Actually-- think I'm gonna sit this one out. Hope you don't mind if I watch, though," the smirk comes to his face easy as any hustle ever has. 

"Not going to turn down an audience," Tuco shrugs, greedy for the pleasures of the flesh with him or without-- but it doesn't sting _._ Fact of the matter is, there's something flattering about the way Tuco winks at him. Unsurprisingly, though, it's Angel who pulls back, despite his heaving chest. _Tch, he worries. I shouldn't have ever been worried._

"You're sure?" Angel rests a hand carefully next to his cheek.

Blondie nods without hesitation, shuffling back to lean against the post at the foot of the bed, “For sure, yeah. Honest I -- think I'm thinking more clearly about this than I have in a while."

It's a hell of a kiss Angel gives him to say 'all right', though. Blondie is a little breathless as he settles back to watch them take each other apart. Tuco has slicked his fingers, jerking his head at Angel Eyes, who turns on to his back and leans against the pillows, spreading his legs obligingly. 

Blondie can feel the hardness in his own pants intensify as he watches Tuco's deft fingers disappear into Angel's ass. It's more of a distant warmth than anything else, like watching a movie he's seen but still surprises him from time to time. Not anything he'd make any motions to change. 

_Besides, when I'm not thinking of everything I should be feeling, it's easier to see what they’re feeling._ And God, it's a sight Blondie drinks in with eyes wide open. Tuco fingers tease Angel slowly, but god, his lover is suddenly the needy one, the greedy one, always demanding _more, faster, fuckfuck_. Tuco just smirks and doesn’t give an inch, not until he’s got four fingers in his ass and the others in Angel’s lips just to give him something to do with his mouth. 

“You ready, _querido_?”

Angel nods fervently, almost breathless. They’re both of them close, Blondie can tell -- and a moment later they’re tangled up again, all motion and breath. The strain of pleasure is carved on to Angel’s forehead, and his partner leans in to kiss him like a blessing, gasping with every thrust -- his back shudders, and Blondie’s fingertips remember the roll of those vertebrae above him, the rush to Tuco’s heartbeat, and the sharp shock of pleasure in his brown eyes as he collapses. 

_You know -- it’s almost just as good to watch from here. Or -- it’s better right now_. 

When they’ve separated, even though they’re sticky with sweat and come, Blondie tumbles beside Tuco’s waiting arm. His partner kisses him clumsily on the neck, murmuring something that might be, ‘if you changed your mind, you’ll have to give me a minute.’ Blondie just shakes his head and kisses the edge of his lips. _All I want is to feel all of us_ here. 

And as it turns out, that’s a damnably easy thing, in their bed. In their home. _Huh._

It’s Tuco that shifts to clean them off first, kissing Angel’s forehead with a murmur of something Blondie can’t hear in Spanish. Tuco brushes a hand through the sweat in his hair, propping himself up on one elbow and eyeing up Angel shamelessly. He crawls a hand down to the very scar Blondie started this whole thing with, “You know-- this looks like it was nasty! How _did_ you get this scar? Blondie said he knew once.”

“Fucked the wrong person,” Angel mumbles sleepily, a smile on his lips. 

“ _Blondie_! You know there’s a limit to what you should do with kink.”

**Author's Note:**

> +BONUS self drag! heheh
> 
> I'm amused that Angel is low-key the pillow princess in this. 
> 
> Comments welcome, hope this brightened your social distancing hours <3 It did mine!


End file.
